Growth
by EmRosie
Summary: After struggling to cope with the aftermath of the war, Harry takes Neville's advice and turns to Herbology for relaxation and makes a career from his work. His life is calm, ordered and just the way he likes it: until Draco Malfoy turns up at his shop, demanding payment of his life debt in the form of the growth a very difficult plant… HPDM Harry/Draco Harry POV
1. Life Debt

**Title:** Growth

 **Pairings:** Harry/Draco

 **Summary:** After struggling to cope with the aftermath of the war, Harry takes Neville's advice and turns to Herbology for relaxation and makes a career from his work. His life is calm, ordered and just the way he likes it: until Draco Malfoy turns up at his shop, demanding payment of his life debt in the form of the growth a very difficult plant… HPDM.

 **Warnings:** Nothing too much really – obviously its slash, as a Harry/Draco pairing, but no sex. Potential light swearing/kissing in later chapters. Nothing too offensive!

 **Authors note:** I don't know how this story will really turn out, if I'm honest, it was just an idea that sort of.. Introduced itself to me! The herbology details may be a little sketchy – the plant in the story is completely of my own fiction, although it is a real Latin word I looked up. I have no idea how long it will be – though it will be a short story, so probably no more than 5 chapters – and I'll update at least weekly. Hope you all enjoy and please, as always, review.

 **Growth**

 **Chapter One**

 **Life-debt**

Harry smiled at the feeling of the moist, thick soil under his palms as he dug by hand to make a hole for his newest seedling. Instead of wearing gloves to shield the dirt, he revelled in the feeling of soil working its way beneath his fingernails, of the ground moving beneath his skin. The feeling relaxed him and, when the earth had been worked and Harry was satisfied, he turned to the crate of bulbs behind him to tenderly free one from the wooden box and return it to its rightful home beneath the earth.

Neville had introduced Harry to Herbology after the war, insisting it would help him find peace. Harry had, at first, thought him crazy. He had spent countless hours breaking his back, tending to Aunt Petunia's garden in the roasting summer holidays. He had studied Herbology at Hogwarts and that had assured him that even magical plants held only marginally more excitement. He had no reason to believe that working with Neville would change his beliefs. But his friend has persisted and, after the worried glances Hermione and Ron exchanged for the fiftieth time as Harry told them again that no, he didn't want to be an Auror, and yes, he knew he once had, but he had changed. And that change wasn't a bad thing.

Except he knew it was. He was tortured each night by memories of the battle, of dark curses, Death Eaters and - worst of all - the dead haunting him. That was why he no longer wanted to be an Auror. He had once dreamed of fighting, of being the hero he was pitched to be. But the horrors of the war had changed him. He wanted peace, and calm, and life.

That had been exactly what Neville offered him. The plants he shared with Harry, their growth from seed to blossom had been healing for Harry in ways he couldn't describe for, in all honesty, he didn't really understand them himself. The growth of the plants he tended helped the growth of his soul; the earth beneath his fingers helped him move past the haunting nightmares of the dead, the need to tend to a fragile seedling helped him move past his uncertainty over his relationship with Ginny and watching the blossoms burst into flower helped him to accept the sexuality leaving Ginny allowed him to recognise. They had started with a small greenhouse, a tiny business which had expanded to a store right in the heart of Diagon Alley. Neville had, in September, taken Professor Sprouts retirement as a chance to become a Herbology professor at Hogwarts. Now Harry ran their business alone - well, Neville's name remained on the business deeds and so it would, when Harry still needed his advice with some of the trickier aspects of Herbology - and he couldn't be happier. His life was calm, peaceful and full of order. It may seem dull to some but, after the pain and uncertainty of the war - after years living with the insecurity that he may not even have a life to live – dull was exactly the way Harry liked it.

Sweat dripped down his brow, and he snapped from his thoughts as a faint tinkle of a bell sounded from the shops front. His greenhouses were magically connected to the store in Diagon Alley so - in quieter days such as this - Harry could tend to both his plants and the store without requiring extra staff. He wiped his dirty hands on his apron, cast a hurried cooling charm at the perspiration on his brow, and apparated away with a simple twist.

He popped into his shop, right behind the counter as he always did, and launched into his usual greeting;

"Good afternoon, may I ask what you're -" Harry stopped dead when he made eye contact with the customer gracing his shop, blinking in disbelief. "Malfoy?" He asked, although he wouldn't mistake the man anywhere. He had seen him little in the past few years, unless you counted the social pages of the Daily Prophet as he partied and swooned and charmed the politicians, celebrities and influential names of the time. The last time he had seen him in the flesh had been after the trials, after Harry and spoken for him and returned his wand. Their meeting had been strained, with many unspoken words and unacknowledged life debts hanging in the air between them.

So that was why Harry was more than a little surprised to see him standing in his store. There were plenty more Herbologists around, that was for sure. Many of those were more than likely more... Harry glanced at Malfoy's fine grey - almost silver, when the light graced it - cloak, polished boots and slick hair and then at his own dirty overalls, scruffy trainers and flyaway locks. Yes, many other businesses were more suitable for shoppers such as Malfoy. So what was he doing here?

"Hello Potter." Malfoy greeted, giving a curt nod as he cast his gaze around the barrels of roots and pots of seedlings.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked when it became apparent that Malfoy would not speak further for himself. He felt uncomfortable and he wasn't sure why; he wished desperately he had more presentable clothes on, at the very least a robe, and resisted the urge to try and flatten his hair as the dirt he could feel packed beneath his fingernails would doubtless only make the situation worse. He dismissed the urges as quickly as they came - why in Merlin's name did he care about how he looked? He was working - and focused back on the man in front of him.

"I had heard that you turned to Herbology." The blonde noted, sweeping his cool, grey gaze to Harry as it finished assessing the shop.

Harry nodded, more than a little confused. "I'm sure you did. We've been here for several years now." Harry said, gesturing vaguely to the shop around him. The press attention their store got when it opened had been the one and only time Harry had been glad of the attention his name commanded - it had been excellent for business.

"We? I thought Longbottom had moved to Hogwarts?" Malfoy appeared to tense as he asked the question, his pupils dilating as his eyes widened and flickered around the shop front.

Harry nodded again, not taking his eyes from Malfoy's. His edgy movements at the thought of Neville confused Harry (yes, they had never liked each other and true, Malfoy had relentlessly bullied Neville at school - but why would that bother him now?) and made him all the more uneasy. Convinced his uneasiness came because - despite fighting for his innocence - he didn't trust him, was reluctant to let him from his sight, even for a second. "He has. He still owns half of this place though; I just run it alone now."

Malfoy instantly appeared to relax, he nodded, and settled his gaze back on Harry. Once again he said nothing for long moments and Harry met him eye for eye. Harry had no time for any games the blonde might want to play; he had no interest in wrestles of power or politics, which was why he had stepped away from the Ministry many years ago.

"So can I help you?" Harry repeated; he would press the request from Malfoy, dismiss whatever crazy notion had brought him here and return to planting his batch of goosegrass bulbs; St Mungo's had been warned of a rise in a rare skin ailment affecting young children in France and wanted to ensure they had the ingredients required to brew the remedy if required. Harry had been only too happy to offer his assistance – not only was it a way he could continue to help people, but the price tag attached to the project meant he and Neville could afford to expand into another greenhouse.

"I'm here on private business." Malfoy said, shifting his eyes from the door through which he had entered, to the door behind the counter where Harry stood. "Perhaps, a private discussion?" He asked, inclining his head toward the door behind Harry. Harry shook his head – the door would reveal nothing but a toilet. The main hub of the business, the greenhouses and storerooms, were reached through apparition, as they required much larger land than Diagon Alley offered. "Very well." Malfoy said, curling his lip in annoyance and flicking his wand toward the entrance. Harry heard the familiar click of a locking charm and saw a faint, blue glow which he vaguely recognised as being some sort of warding charm; he was about to open his mouth to protest to both – it was the middle of the day, and although Diagon Alley was quiet at the start of November, business could call at any moment – when Malfoy spoke.

"I am here, Potter, to claim a life debt." He spoke with a cool, detached tone as if he were reading an article on the weather from the back pages of the Prophet. His cool voice suggested calm, but Harry watched the way his eyes glittered with apprehension; he may have been raised by muggles, but he knew the importance pure bloods weighed on life debts. "During the war, when you were brought to the Manor-"

"You could have turned me in, but you didn't. I know." Harry interrupted; yes, he was much calmer than he had been in the years directly after the war, but he didn't particularly want to relive the memories of that year any more than he needed to. "I'm aware, as I said as much at your trial. As you are aware that I saved your life in return, from the fiend-"

"I know." It was Malfoy's turn to interrupt, although he bowed his head as he did so. Harry swallowed uncomfortably as he did so, realising Malfoy must be relieving the death of one of his closest friends in those flames, feeling sympathy swell in his chest until it was washed away by anger when he remembered Malfoy was the one who turned up at his door and started the conversation in the first place. He clamped his lips firmly closed to avoid words of either emotion spilling from them and waited.

Eventually – be it seconds or minutes, although it seemed like hours, Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe such time could have passed – Malfoy raised his eyes. They still glittered, but the apprehension was gone, a fierce determination in its wake. "I understand that. I understand you could ask anything of me in return, and I would be required to oblige. That must illustrate the severity of the debt I am here to claim."

Harry nodded faintly, both his sympathy and anger fading to curiosity – Harry had, in the years since the war, taken a step away from the limelight. He no longer held the political power, the adoration that he once had. Yes, of course, many witches and wizards still respected him and they always would. But Malfoy had worked to regain the power of his family name and, what was more, he had succeeded. Surely there was nothing he could want from Harry?

"My mother was hit by a curse shortly after the trials. Its effects were long delayed and the symptoms are beginning to show. We can ignore it no longer, she needs-"

"Have you been to St Mungo's?" Harry interrupted; he felt guilty for doing so, knowing the pain Malfoy must be feeling if his mother was so unwell, and Harry himself respected Narcissa for the way she too had saved his life. Still, that didn't mean Harry would listen to Malfoy's speech and pretend he could do anything to help. He wasn't a healer.

"And have them treat us the same way the Auror's did when we called them, when the curse was first cast?" Malfoy's cool tone turned to a sneer and his entire demeanour changed; his guard was raised, his expression was curled and taught into a look of disgust. "Abandon her without thought? Claim there is nothing they can do?" His questions were like challenges, as if Harry was to blame for the way they had been treated in the past. "Worse, claim they can help her, only to bring her to the end by their own hand?"

"I –" Harry began and then fell silent. He had no idea what to say; he had assumed the Malfoy's had been protected by the freedom the Wizengamot had granted them, respected as Malfoy rose within the ranks of society again. But as he looked at Malfoy, the hard look in his grey eyes, the fixed sneer on his face, he knew his assumptions were wrong.

"The Manor has an extensive Dark Arts library." Malfoy said without shame, and Harry resisted the urge to curl his fists; he wasn't an Auror, it wasn't his job to care. "I found the curse and the potion that counters it. It requires an extremely _rare_ ingredient."

"Illegal?" Harry asked, more sharply than he intended, his words snapping like a whip.

"In some forms." Malfoy replied, pressing forward and swallowing Harry's protests with his next words. "Neither the seed nor the whole plant, the ones you would be in contact with, are illegal forms. It is, because of the uses of its individual parts when correctly treated, restricted. It is also notoriously difficult to grow… Numerous _sellers_ I am aware of claim to be able to lay their hands on the whole plant, yet I cannot trust their words in this case. I have acquired a seed and I need someone I can trust to bring it to life."

All of Harry's protests, from its restricted status to its difficulty to grow, were silence with Malfoy's final words. "You think you can trust me?"

"I trust the life debt." Came Malfoy's reply, to which Harry nodded. His mind whirled with the conversation as all the strands of the revelations that had been made attempted to settle themselves in his mind. He felt his muscles begin to stiffen, tension begin to build, and the urge to sink his hands into the reassuring, solid earth that would soothe him. He pushed the thoughts away, instead focusing back on Malfoy, and asked, "Its name? The plant?"

"Salutaris" Malfoy replied and Harry knew a look of confusion passed over his face. He knew for two reasons; firstly, because he knew he wasn't good at masking his emotions behind a poker face and secondly, because Malfoy began to explain. "It means wholesome, or healthful, in Latin. There is an irony in the name, because although used in its whole form as I intend to it can restore health, its separate parts in isolation can have deadly consequences."

Harry shivered at the description of the plant, wondering if he wanted anything to do with such a thing. It was a life debt, yes, but as Malfoy pointed out, he owed Harry one in return. Harry was sure he could use his to counter Malfoy's; but then again, Narcissa had too saved Harry's life and – if she were well enough – surely she would come herself, using the debt owed to her for the same request? The thoughts stewed in Harry's mind, and the more he thought, the more one glittering, tempting jewel stood out in his mind. ' _Notoriously difficult to grow'_ Malfoy had said; a challenge. A chance for Harry to prove to himself that he was as good with his hands, as good at growing plants, as good at coaxing life from seed, as he desired to be. The challenge tempted him, he couldn't deny it.

The moments stretched out before both of them before Harry nodded.

"I'll do it." He said, and the relief in Malfoy's eyes – however briefly it flickered before he hid it beneath his mask – was as bright as the full moon on a clear summer's night.

Harry yawned, disturbed from his sleep by a persistent tapping at the window. He slowly sat up, arching his back in an attempt to stretch out a painful crick in his neck and opened his eyes. He blinked around the room in confusion, before realising the reason for his discomfort. He had, after Malfoy's request, closed the shop early (he had come late in the afternoon and Harry had only been due to stay open another hour, at most) and returned home to research the seed. He had sat up late, pouring over the combined books that Neville had gifted to him, those he had bought himself with his rising interests, and those he had brought from the Black library at Number 12. He had made several scribbled notes on parchment and had found nothing of much substance. He had only found the description of the plant that Malfoy had already given; its restricted nature, due to the danger of the separated parts of the plant. It gave little information on growing it, only that it originated in the tropical rainforests of the Amazon. From that, Harry could deduce that it needed hot, humid temperatures to thrive, but little else. Such temperatures were uncomfortable to work in, but entirely replicable with rather simple herbology charms, so for it to be as difficult to grow as Malfoy claimed, Harry knew there had to be more.

He had quite clearly fallen asleep searching for it.

Remembering that he had, indeed, been asleep and that a tapping had awoken him, he turned to his window to see a grand Eagle owl at his window. It hovered in mid-air, a letter and a large package tied to it. It didn't waver under the weight, showing its strength as it merely waited, tapping the window occasionally, for Harry to let it inside. He did so and the owl swooped with grace to the table. Harry cast several charms over the package – although he knew his wards wouldn't have let if through if it were dangerous – and untied the letter first. The script was short, slightly slanted yet impossibly neat.

 _Potter,_

 _This is the copy of the book in which I discovered the curse and its counter potion. The potion itself is on page 423, but the details of the seed growth are under pages 647 to 648. Most of it refers to how to prepare the final plant for several dark brews but I believe it gives enough detail for you to be able to raise it from a seed._

 _Malfoy_

Harry then untied the brown paper from the parcel and ran his hand over the thick, leather spine of the book that was revealed. He went straight to page 647 – he had no need to look up the potion – and glanced down at the passage which described the plant.

 _Salutaris_

 _The Salutaris plant can offer those who acquire it many formidable uses. Whole, it can be used as a counter to several Dark curses, but it's true glory comes in the separation of its parts. Its petals, when crushed, can form part of a powerful elixir which can enslave the free wills of the strongest men. Its stem, when finely chopped, can be used in a brew that can kill an enemy through the realisation of their worst nightmares, driving them to destruct themselves through desperation._

Harry rolled his eyes as he read – only a Dark Arts book could describe slavery and death as being more glorious than healing. He skipped through the rest of the passage, until his eyes rested on the section which would tell him how to grow the plant.

 _The Salutaris plant originated in rainforests; any wizard trying to grow the plant, therefore, should ensure a hot, humid environment is replicated. Once the seed is acquired it should be planted in a bed of soil 3 feet deep. The roots of the plant grow at an alarming rate, even with little growth above the ground. The plant should be given nothing for the first three days and then it should be tended hourly with water. As the plant begins to grow…_

Harry read on, scribbling notes as his eyes darted across the page. It was, as Malfoy told him, an extremely difficult plant to grow. The conditions it required were simple enough, but the attention it required to grow away from its natural habitat were extreme. Harry nibbled his bottom lip as he cast his gaze down the notes he had made, wondering if he did, after all, have the skills to grow such a plant.

Well, he told himself, it wasn't as if he had a choice. He sighed as he finished the passage – after exactly 31 days, the writer said, the plant was at its most potent, and should be harvested. The passage then began to devote itself with passion to the many ways to prepare the plants for its more _glorious_ uses.

He cast a brief tempus charm and the time told him that he may as well stay awake. He closed the books he had been reading and pocketed his notes, then pulled a clean shaft of parchment from the desk drawer.

 _Malfoy_ he wrote.

 _I have read the passage you indicated and, despite the difficulty involved, believe I will be able to grow the plant as you require. It will take a day or two for me to have a greenhouse to the exact requirements, so you can bring the seed to me then._

 _Harry Potter_

Harry stood, rolling up the parchment and sliding the quill away, leaving the room in search of his owl when a low hoot made him jump. The eagle owl he had let in had remained perched at the open window; Harry had assumed, given his leaving the window open, the bird would have left when its delivery was made.

"He made you wait for a reply, huh?" Harry asked the owl, rolling his eyes as he tied the note to its leg. Once the note was in place the owl hooted once more and took off into the morning sky. Harry watched it go for a moment, admiring the fine, strong lines of its wings as it beat against the breeze, before he closed the window and turned into his study. Breakfast first, then a shower, he decided before making his way to the kitchen.

Harry was fed, washed and dressed when a tapping on the window alerted him again. The eagle owl had returned once again and Harry let it in, this time opening its letter without casting his wand.

 _Which is it, Potter? A day or two?_

The note was short and unsigned, although Harry didn't need the signature to read the note in the sneering voice of its owner. He rolled his eyes and cast a summoning charm that brought a quill toward him.

 _Two. Be at my shop at 8:30 on Sunday._

He scribbled his response at the foot of the note and reached out to tie it back to the foot of the waiting bird. Once the window was once again closed he pocketed his wand, turned on the spot, and disappeared to his greenhouse.


	2. Planting

_I hope people are enjoying this story, here's the second chapter. Please let me know what you think, I'd be grateful for any reviews. This is a shorter chapter, but the next should be up soon!_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Planting**

Harry rolled over, dimly aware that no alarm had awoken him and that no light yet spilled into the room. Well, his still sleep-dazed state told him, it was November after all and not likely to be sunny anytime. After a moment feeling around for his glasses – although they did him little good in the dark of the room – he took his wand from under his pillow and cast a simple tempus charm. _Quarter past 6_ announced the green, glittering letters of the charms command. Harry sighed and slunk back against the pillows. He knew, despite the early hour, there would be little point trying to sleep again. He had been restless falling into his sleep that night and should have known he would awake early; he didn't need to be at his greenhouse until half past eight, the time Malfoy was due to arrive, so could have slept until seven at least. Since Malfoy had turned up at Harry's store, introduced himself at the life-debt, the dark haired wizard had been on edge.

It was the challenge of the seed, Harry told himself, as he admitted defeat and swung his legs from the bed, hauling himself to a standing position. A good shower and an even better cup of tea (he'd often, on his most sleep-deprived mornings, wished he could enjoy coffee the same way Ron could, but no matter how many variations he tried, it would always be tea for him) would allow him to start the day with a clear mind. And a clear mind would be exactly what he needed to face the challenge of growing the Salutaris seed. His further reading had made it clear that the planation of seed to ground was one of the most vital stages in the plants growth process; the temperature had to be exact to the degree, the soil had to be just the right consistency and there – when they were being hand-reared, not growing naturally – needed to be a number of carefully placed protection charms around the seed as it was bedded. Without the conditions, the plant would still grow and bloom into a glorious flower, but devoid of any of the wondrous (and downright petrifying) magical properties the plant possessed. That was why, Harry had also discovered, the seed was so hard to find. Many Salutaris plants, grown in both the wild and by wizards, were missing one of the many vital stages of their growth, meaning that although they bloomed beautifully, the seeds they then produced were as devoid of the magical qualities as the plant they had come from. Harry had determinedly searched for a way to test the seed before he planted it – he didn't want to waste time and effort rearing a seed that wouldn't achieve its purpose – but hadn't been able to find one. He would have to trust the Malfoy had found a way to be sure he had secured a high quality seed.

Trust and Malfoy were too words Harry didn't like to put together.

" _You think you can trust me?"_

" _I trust the life debt."_

The words that had been aired between them rang in Harry's mind, taking him from his bedroom to the bathroom, and right under the spray of his warm, soothing shower.

* * *

The chime of his shop bell startled Harry from his checks. Despite a longer shower than normal, cooking himself a full breakfast and taking his time to try and actually calm his hair into some sort of style (although why he did the latter he still wasn't sure – just to pass the time, he told himself) Harry had still been ready to leave around quarter to eight. He had made sure that his shop door would appear closed and locked to anyone but Malfoy – they didn't open until 10 on Sunday's, after all – and had gone into his greenhouses to check his preparations for what must have been the fiftieth time. He had cleared space in one of the smaller sections, making sure the area was completely sealed from the rest of the area before setting several careful atmospheric charms that would mimic the seeds natural tropical habitat. He had also ensured he had a planter big enough and that the soil was exactly as it needed to be. On top of that, he had rehearsed the protective planting charms the seed required until he had memorised them entirely.

Yet when the shop bell chimed, with the possibility of it being only one person, Harry was filled with anxiety.

When he arrived, perfectly behind the counter as always, his gaze instantly sought out Malfoy. He was in the doorway, exactly as he had been the first time he approached, yet everything else was different. This time he wore robes of a regal navy in a crushed, highly-expensive looking velvet. His blonde hair was swept back, framing his face, which this time wore a very different expression. Last time he had appeared cool and collected; today he seemed to be on edge, his eyes wavering as they settled on Harry as if nervous, his adams apple bobbing in his throat as if trying to swallow some courage. His hand, in the most notable show of nerves, tapped rhythmically against his pocket.

"The seed?" Harry asked, nodding straight toward the hand Malfoy tapped. He was unsure how else to start the conversation – a simple hello would no doubt leave an awkward silence, and asking how Malfoy was a fake courtesy neither would relish engaging in. Better, Harry thought, to get straight to the point of business.

Malfoy's hand instantly stilled as if frozen, clearly unnerved to be caught out in the expression of his anxiety. "Yes," he said as he regained his – or rather, Harry guessed, provided a mask of – cool and slipped his hand into the pocket he had been drumming. From inside he pulled a small, woven sack. He held it as if it were the finest gold or jewels, gently in his palm. Harry almost snorted at the sight of a Malfoy, of all people, finding the worth and beauty in a plant that Harry could – then he thought of the reason Malfoy was here, what this plant would mean for his mother, and scolded himself. Of course it would be precious to him.

When it became clear Malfoy wasn't going to approach Harry swept from behind the counter and crossed the small shop floor in a few large strides. He was face to face with Malfoy when he stretched out his hand and cupped his palm, ready to take the seed. At the gesture Malfoy's grip firmed into a fist around the sack – not tight enough to harm it, Harry noted, but tight enough to make clear he was reluctant to let go.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and tried to be gentle. "If you want me to grow the plant, Malfoy, you'll actually need to let me have the seed."

Malfoy's eyes turned from cool to blazing with heat, burning with the force of the sharp glare they drove into Harry. Apparently not gentle enough, Harry told himself, as Malfoy snapped; "I realise that, Potter." He said nothing for moments after, and Harry was about to probe again, when his lips parted. "I wondered…" He began, then seemed to think better of such an opening. "I mean, since this is so important to my family, I have a duty as heir to stay and observe. I'll need to come with you and watch the seed being planted."

Harry cocked his eyebrow as the brassy tone in which the demand was delivered, but told himself not to react. Things such as that would have earned a rise from Harry in the time before the war, before he found herbology and the peace it gave him.

Still, he needed to take a breath to calm himself, before he nodded his agreement. "If you insist." He allowed, before casting an eye up and down Malfoy's robes. He might have noticed, during that gaze, how well they fit – how the colour complemented his pale skin rather beautifully, and how the material seemed to fold over his shoulders in a way that made them appear broad but not too large. He might have noticed those things, but that definitely wasn't the intention of the gaze. The gaze, of course, was to point out how inappropriate Malfoy's clothing was to be in a greenhouse. "Although I don't think your dressed for the occasion."

"What do you mean?" Malfoy asked, gazing down at himself as if seeing himself for the first time – although Harry strongly believed that wasn't true; with the amount of hair product on the vain gits head, he probably spent hours in front of a mirror. _You probably would, if you had hair that nice,_ Harry's subconscious told him, to which he firmly snarled back, _shut up._

"I mean, the temperature the Salutaris seed requires is tropical. Hot and humid. It needs to be exactly 82 degrees when first planted. You'll be ridiculously hot." Harry paused, eyeing the material again; definitely velvet, and was that – were they sapphire's glinting in the clasp? They were, a second look told him, and set in gold. This time Harry didn't resist the urge to roll his eyes. "And its dirty. Muddy. You'll ruin your robes. Hence.." Harry trailed off, nodding down at his own attire. He didn't like to draw attention to his bedraggled state, although he didn't feel as uncomfortable as he did at their first meeting.

"Easy enough to solve." Malfoy said, withdrawing his wand from the same robe pocket in which he had kept the seed. A quiet, precise incantation was accompanied by a cross across his chest, then down across his robes. They glowed white for a moment and then a second, more confusing stream of Latin was accompanied by a flick which set a stream of silver from the wand tip to encase the robes like an orb. It hovered for a second and then appeared to sink into the material of the robes. Protective charms, Harry assumed, but none that he had seen before. Clearly only wizards who bought robes incrusted with jewels costing more than Harry's store earnt in a week required the knowledge of such fancy wand work.

With no more excuses left, Harry found himself nodding, and offering his arm to Malfoy. The other man looked at him in confusion, glancing pointedly to the door behind Harry. "The greenhouses are off site. They're far too big to have in the back of a shop on Diagon Alley. I'll have to apparate us." Malfoy nodded in return and took the offered arm. Harry told himself not to notice the slight shake of the hand that closed around his forearm, trembling until Harry's weight supported it.

It was nice though, Harry thought, to see that Malfoy wasn't as emotionally distant as he would like to appear. He was invested in this, in his family, in his mother. And he had trusted Harry with that too. The responsibility weigh heavily on Harry's chest as he twisted on the spot, transporting both he and Malfoy to the greenhouses.

"I'll warn you now, it's over 80 degrees in there. Prepare yourself to get a little warm." Harry said as he paused with his hand on the door handle.

"It should be 82 degrees exactly if I was correct in my reading." Malfoy shot back smoothly, his knowledge making Harry's brow lift in surprise. "What?" He asked in response to the expression.

"Nothing. Of course it's 82 degrees, I've done the reading too." Harry replied, hiding his surprise that Malfoy was so knowledgeable. It was strange talking to someone who knew so much about plants – he could talk to Neville, of course, but few others were as interested as he was. Of course, Harry reminded himself, Malfoy would only know about this plant in particular, and not for the same reasons Harry enjoyed the study of Herbology.

The reminder of the weight of the situation followed Harry into the sweltering greenhouse. His hand trembled with nerves as he reached into his pocket for his wand, waving it in the five figure movement which would bring up the exact details of the rooms temperature and humidity. Relieved – but not surprised, given his long commitment to such charms – to see they were exactly as he had left them, at the perfect level for growing the seed, he placed his wand down on the long, soiled bench beside the planter he had chosen for the seed.

He took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he counted down from five in his mind, calming the nervous trembling of his hand. It wouldn't do to show such nerves in front of the person he was working for. Not out of fear that Malfoy would insult him – such schoolboy rivalries no longer mattered to Harry and, what was more, he had come to believe they had both moved on from such jibes since the war. Not out of fear, but out of a determination to show to Malfoy he had come to the right person.

Harry then, of course, remembered the life debt that was binding him to this, and realised the blonde wizard before him had little other choice.

From the moment Harry took the seed in hand, the trembling of his hands and nerves ceased and he lost himself in the soothing feel of the earth beneath his fingers, the familiar (and, for this seed, unfamiliar) wand movements required to bed the seed to the soil, working the two together as one. The process was longer than required for other plants, but still took no longer than five minutes. When he finished he looked up to see Malfoy staring at his hands pressed atop of the now firmly packed soil. His brow was, as Harry had warned, glittering with sweat from the heat. That was not, however, what made him look the most out of place; his eyes were wide with wonder, perfectly round grey moons of awe as they gazed, his mouth dropping slightly agape with the same marvel his eyes shone with. Harry flushed at the image, then hastily reminded himself that the admiration was more than likely not for him, but for the realisation that the seed beneath his fingers would grow to save his mother's life.

"That's it." Harry whispered somewhat reluctant to break the moment, but aware that he would need to prepare to open the shop.

"May I come back?" Malfoy asked. His voice was a whisper too, and although he had rearranged his expression to a neutral one, his eyes still sparkled with the same wonder they had when Harry first lifted his gaze to them.

Harry smiled at the thought of someone enjoying the idea of bringing a seed to life as much as he did, no matter what the reason behind it, and nodded. "Of course. I'll check in on it several times a day, to maintain all the atmospheric charms, but it won't need any further attention for 3 days. In fact, it's vital it's not disturbed in that time."

Malfoy nodded, not taking his eyes away from the soil beaneath Harry's hands. "Then the hourly watering for… Is it two days?"

Harry nodded, this time not surprised at Malfoy's knowledge. "I have the charms that will ensure it is watered sufficiently that aren't too hard to place. You could come back when I set those, if you wanted, the same time three days from now?"

"And again when you move the seed on the fifth day?"

"Of course." Harry replied, giving the soil a final, reassuring pat with the gentle nature one would if petting a small animal. To him, there was little difference; this seed would give life all the same.

When Harry looked up, he was surprised to see Malfoy's extended hand, reaching out toward him to shake. He hastily wiped his hands on his apron although he knew it would do little to clear the earth caked to his palms, and hesitantly reached his hand out too. He gave Malfoy plenty of opportunity to see the dirt of his fingers and plenty of opportunity to take the offer of his hand away; but he didn't, he held out, and firmly clasped his hand around Harry's. In the moment their hands shook Malfoy's eyes flickered closed for the briefest of moments. The expression was gone as quickly as it appeared, but it made Harry feel strangely as if it were something the other wizard had been waiting for. It made Harry uncomfortable, as if he were intruding on a private moment.

He cleared his throat and dropped his hand, eager to leave the feeling behind. "I can take us both back to my store, or you can leave directly from here."

"I'll return with you. I have some business in Diagon Alley." Came Malfoy's reply and Harry nodded, offering his arm again.

"I'll see you three days from now." Harry said as they arrived back on his shop floor, eager for the strange thoughts that Malfoy had brought with him to leave as he did.

"Wednesday at 8.30." Malfoy replied, giving a curt nod as he stepped back. The removal of himself from Harry's personal space seemed to be the action that returned him to himself; the open expressions Harry had seen in the greenhouse were hidden once again, his voice had returned to the same straight, commanding tone he so often used.

He then left, the bell of the store door tinkling behind him.

He didn't, however, take Harry's thoughts of him with him.


	3. Questions

**Chapter Three**

 **Questions**

As agreed, Malfoy returned on the third day, watched with unmasked interest as Harry placed the charms which would ensure the hourly watering the plant would require for the next two days. He felt uncomfortable under Malfoy's intense gaze at first, but relaxed as he always did when he connected with the earth and the growth of life around him, becoming calm enough to explain to Malfoy how the charms worked as he cast them.

They had returned to the shop again, and then had agreed to meet at the same time on Friday morning so that the seed could be moved to its next planter.

On Friday morning Malfoy arrived shortly after Harry, removing a thick cloak as he entered the shop, hanging it on the rail behind Harry's counter. Beneath the cloak Malfoy was clad in thick – clearly rather expensive – overalls. Harry's brow shot up in surprise as he took in the sight, his surprise at Malfoy's attire overriding any embarrassment he felt about the threadbare state of his own work apron.

"I read a lot about the movement of the seed. It sounds quite intense. I thought I might be able to help with some of the simpler factors." Malfoy explained in response to the stare, his face hard and determined but betrayed by a waiver of uncertainty in his eyes. Although Harry hadn't been around Malfoy for too long, he had soon learnt that despite Malfoy's expert control of his emotions, his eyes were always a key to his feelings. The idea of having someone working with him – someone who wasn't Neville, at least – filled Harry with nerves. How could he trust someone who knew so little to be in tune as he was with what the seed needed, how could someone like Malfoy take the same enjoyment from the way the earth moved beneath his fingers?

"Unless you'd rather-" Malfoy began, clearly reading Harry's uncertainty from his expression.

Harry shook his head quickly, determined not to insult Malfoy after the effort he had clearly made. "I just didn't take you as the type to get your hands dirty." He excused effortlessly; after all, that wasn't a lie.

"When something means as much as this does, for family, I can make exceptions." Malfoy stated firmly, and Harry found himself nodding in agreement, pushing away his earlier concerns. He could trust Malfoy because, although he may know very little about Herbology in general, he would be well researched on something that meant so much to his family. And no, Malfoy probably wouldn't enjoy the connection with earth and life in the same way Harry did, but he would respect it in the knowledge of what it would do for his mother.

"Let's go then." Harry said, offering Malfoy his arm as if he had done a thousand times before. Malfoy took up his arm with the same ease, and Harry thought briefly of how – if someone had told him even a week ago – that he would be even this comfortable with Malfoy he would have thought them insane.

As they entered the greenhouse, they both took up positions around the bench. The new planter Harry had selected was already in place, alongside two heavy sacks of soil. Malfoy stayed a step away from the bench – not in hesitation, simply happy to stay out of Harry's way until he was needed. Harry appreciated the move, and began to pile the fresh soil into the planter. Most wizards in Harry's line of work did this with basic transference charms and, although Harry admitted they were time saving, he much preferred to feel the reassurance of the soil in his hands. Malfoy offered his support when directed and, together, they moved the seed from its first planter to its new home. Once bedded, Harry placed the same charms as before on the seed in its new home.

"Ten minutes from now it will need to take its first water. It's less frequent now, only once every twelve hours, so I think I'll do it by hand. It'll be the same for a week and then we should have a shoot that we can see." Harry explained as he cast a simple _Aguamenti_ to fill his watering can with cool, refreshing water.

"Can I ask you a question?" Malfoy asked as Harry turned back from filling the metal can with water.

"You just did." Harry smirked, then startled himself as he realised how casually he joked with Malfoy. He watched Malfoy's expression pass between slightly offended – Harry went to interject, but the expression quickly changed – to a smirk to rival Harry's own.

"Witty, Potter." Came his reply as he smirked, before shaking his head and dropping the smirk in favour of a thoughtful look. "Seriously. What made you do this? When the entire wizarding world was so set that you'd become an Auror?"

"It wasn't for me." Harry shrugged, wiping his muddied hand on his apron. "After the war… I changed. It was tough, losing so many people. Not being able to save them all." Harry's voice dropped to a whisper as he came to his last admission, staring into the soil that had helped him recover.

"You couldn't be expected to save everyone." Malfoy replied and his tone was soft, reassuring. Harry kept his gaze firmly on the earth; the soft tone of Malfoy's voice was unnerving enough, without seeing the expression that might accompany it.

"I know." Harry nodded in response, keeping his gaze cast down. "But I didn't want to do it anymore. Then this… Well I found things… difficult, after the war. I had a lot to accept. Neville suggested I try this, and it worked for me." Harry looked up at this point, seeking out Malfoy's gaze. His face was soft and open, and… Harry shook the train of thought away, finding his words again. "It relaxed me. It made me feel good, bringing things to life."

"I think it suits you. The Ministry wouldn't, no doubt they'd want to parade you around parties as their perfect little puppet." Malfoy said, and Harry was once again surprised by his insight. He chuckled lowly at the comment, shaking his head as he replied.

"Trust me, they've tried." Harry assured him. "It didn't work. I'm far from their idea of perfect."

"Your not being an Auror was enough to upset them that much?" Malfoy asked, arching a brow in surprise.

"My not wanting to attend every party they threw, dance with endless eligible witches and marry a nice girl was what upset them the most, I think." Harry said, smiling with surprise at the ease with which he opened up to Malfoy.

"So they didn't approve of your love affair with the Weaselette then." Malfoy smirked, clearly misreading Harry's words.

"Quite the opposite. They would have been _thrilled_ if that were the case." Harry said, remembering with a heavy heart the painful conversation between himself and Ginny those few years ago, when the comfort he had found in Herbology gave him the courage to be his true self. "It's my general preference that's the problem."

"You're…?" Malfoy gaped, trailing off in surprise.

"Gay? Yes." Harry said, his tone of voice darkening slightly from the easy, relaxed exchange of their conversation before. "That was most disappointing for all of them, their saviour turning out as a puff, not ensuring ' _the continuation of the wizarding blood'_." Harry couldn't help his drop into a snarl as he echoed the words of a particularly disapproving pure-blooded witch who had accosted him at one of the few Ministry parties he had attended in the past few years as a personal favour to Kingsley. The only reason Malfoy didn't know was his safety in the press, peace and quiet bargained through a 'reveal-all' interview at the end of the war with the Prophet in a time where the entire wizarding world – and, also, Harry himself – had no idea about his sexuality. He tried to decipher the complicated emotions in Malfoy's eyes, although he found himself unable to tell what lie within them. "Don't worry." He began, taking Malfoy's reaction to be the same of every other pure-blood idealist who would be scandalised he wasn't planning on continuing the Potter wizarding name. "It's not catching."

"What?" Malfoy said, clearly taken aback by Harry's comment. "It's not that, I-"

"Don't worry. I know not many pure-bloods approve. It's the way I am, I've accepted it, I don't care what other people think." Harry told him with an easy shrug, his words more truthful than they would have been years ago. It was true that the peace Herbology gave him after the war had given him the same calm over accepting his sexuality.

"I don't care either. I just didn't…" Malfoy paused, clearly deciding what his next words would be. Harry tried again to calculate his emotions, but his eyes and face were nothing but empty. "I never expected that."

Harry nodded, accepting Malfoy's words as he sank down to lean on the bench behind him. They fell into a silence for a while, which Harry was surprised to find calm rather than uncomfortable, before the simple tempus charm Harry set to alert him when ten minutes had passed chimed to alert him to water the soil. He picked up the can, sprinkled the water across the surface of the planter with tender care, evenly spreading the water until the can was emptied. He glanced as the glowing time in the air before he waved his wand to both set an alarm for ten minutes before the time every twelve hours and to make the glowing numbers disappear, then turned back to Malfoy.

"So every twelve hours makes it ten to 9 both morning and evening." He said as he tucked his wand away.

"I know there won't be much for a week, but can I keep dropping in? Mother likes to know how things are coming along."

"Of course." Harry replied quickly, instantly cursing himself; he hadn't, in all this time, asked how Narcissa was doing. The witch had saved his life, she deserved the courtesy of Harry asking after hers. "How is she?"

"She's fine." The flicker of emotion in Malfoy's eyes as he spoke told Harry his words were a lie, but the tone of his voice made it clear the conversation was not to be pursued. "Thankfully my gift for potions has meant I can keep her comfortable. Speaking of which, I should go and check on her."

Harry nodded, thankful to have an end to the intense direction their conversation had taken. "You can drop by whenever you like." He assured him.

"I'll see you then, Potter." Malfoy said and gave a nod that Harry had come to accept was as close to a thank you as he would receive. The blonde was then gone with a crack of apparition and Harry returned to his plants. His body, his movements, were with the bulbs and plants he tended but his mind, for reasons he couldn't place, stayed on the wizard who had left.

* * *

When Harry went back to the shop – he had spent the entire day in his greenhouses tending to plants and starting a new batch of medicinal herbs for Mr Mulpepper's apothecary and had left one of the few staff he and Neville employed in charge of the store – he found Malfoy's cloak still hanging where he had left it that morning. Clearly he had apparated straight home to his mother without thought for his belongings. Harry to cast a cleaning charm on his hands and screwed his face up in discomfort as the charm rubbed over his skin, the sensation was unpleasant and one Harry tended to avoid at all costs, but he doubted Malfoy would thank him for a soiled cloak, before he took the cloak under his arm. When he arrived home he found parchment, quill and ink, penning a simple note with his Floo address, inviting Malfoy to come and collect the cloak if he wanted it. He could have shrunk, wrapped and sent the cloak along with his owl who was more than capable of carrying the weight, but for some reason he chose not to. He told himself he didn't want to risk the cloak getting lost or damaged in transit, but he knew his owl was too well trained to allow such a thing to happen. He didn't allow himself to dwell on the thoughts of any more excuses, keying Malfoy into the wards around his Floo after he sent the owl away.

He had gone into the kitchen to prepare himself some food, searching through the cupboards for something quick and easy. He was just about to eat when he heard the fireplace roar into life from his living room.

"Malfoy?" He called in surprise as he headed into the room. He knew his owl was fast, but the he hadn't expected a response so quickly from Malfoy.

Ginny's face, however, was the one to greet him in the flames, and was now twisted in confusion. "No, it's me." She said, once Harry's face slid into view. "Why in Merlin's name would Malfoy be Floo calling you?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm just growing something for him." Harry said waving his hand dismissively and pushing past the subject. "What can I do for you?"

Ginny looked suspicious as Harry spoke, but then broke into a wide, beaming smile, clearly too excited about whatever she was calling to tell him to be side-tracked by the mention of Draco Malfoy. "Micheal and I are engaged." She gushed.

"Congratulations." Harry said, smiling brightly and broadly to his friend's face in the flames. He was genuinely happy for her, of course, so the smile wasn't hard to achieve. But as she spoke his heart ached a little; he had no romantic interest in Ginny, none at all. But there had been a time when he had believed, if anyone, she would be the one he would marry. Now his friends around him were settling down into happy, lasting relationships. Harry hated the thought of being alone.

"I wanted to tell you, all the family, before we put our announcement in the Prophet. Mum will probably organise a party." She rolled her eyes at the mention of Molly, but smiled good naturedly all the same. Harry knew all the Weasley's appreciated Molly's love, however overpowering it could be at times. He only hoped one day he would have someone he could introduce to her, someone he could love, maybe even someone to marry.

Rather than dwell on the conversation and the sadness restricting his heart, Harry nodded, eager to close the conversation. "Sounds great, Gin. I'll be there. I'm happy for you." He said, conjuring another smile. "But I just put some food on, I better go and eat before its cold. I'll speak to you soon." Before she could reply Harry shut down the call, sending her face whirling from the flames. As he returned to the kitchen to eat, he told himself that it were definitely because of the food, and not because of the thought of Malfoy trying to reach him by Floo, which had made him so eager to close down the call.

As he finished eating, his own returned, tapping at the window with a roll of parchment at its foot. Harry stood to take the note, patting the feathers of his head and summoning a handful of owl treats as he unwrapped the note.

 _Potter,_

 _Thank you for your note. Mother has been rather unwell this afternoon and I feel it is best if I stay by her side until morning. I'll come and collect the cloak from you tomorrow, perhaps if I come to your shop I can check in on the seed as I do?_

 _Malfoy_

As he scribbled a reply to the foot of the parchment, telling Malfoy that the suggestion was fine and wishing Narcissa well, Harry tried to ignore the burn of disappointment in his chest. Once the letter was reattached and the owl treats were gone, Harry's owl swept back into the ink black night sky. Back in the comfort of his living room, pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey, his floo once again roared into life.

"Harry? You there mate?" Came the familiar voice of his best friend.

"Yeah, I'm here." Harry said, turning to the fire and dropping down so he could see Ron's face in the flames.

"Great, can I come through?"

"Sure." Harry nodded, standing once again and stepping back to allow Ron to step through into his fireplace. He turned back to the bottle he had taken and summoned a second glass from the kitchen. "Drink?" He asked, although he knew what the answer would be, and poured a glass anyway. Although Ron and Hermione loved each other dearly, pregnant Hermione – as she had been for four months now – could be at times (although neither would admit this to her if she asked) a little _crazy_. Sometimes Ron just needed an escape and Harry was only too happy to provide one.

"How did you know?" Ron chuckled as he accepted the glass, sinking down into his usual armchair.

"What is it today? More cleaning charms?" Harry asked with a laugh as he turned back to pass a glass to Ron before sinking into a chair of his own.

"She's not bad today, just as crazy on the cleaning, but nothing new." Ron reported as he took a gulp of the firey liquid. "Gin called me."

"About her and Michael? It's great news." Harry said as he took his own drink.

"Yeah, they're both really happy." Ron nodded, brushing past the comment quickly in a way that gave Harry the impression that it wasn't the reason for his visit. "She said she'd told you. She also mentioned you thought she was Malfoy."

Harry was unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes – he knew the Malfoy and Weasley feud, ages old, would be unlikely to fade, but even Ron had admitted after the trials and that Malfoy wasn't evil after all. "News travels fast." He was unable to stop himself from saying, sarcasm layering his tone before he shook his head and shook it away.

"What are you doing talking to him? Ginny said something about growing him a plant?"

"He came to visit me last week. His mother is ill, she needs a specific plant for a potion to cure her. He came to me." Harry said, and punctuated his words with a shrug as if it were no big deal.

"Why you though? Surely there are plenty of other herbologists around." Ron said, arching his brow in question.

"It's a very rare seed that is difficult to grow. He said he needed someone he could trust to do it, so… He called on his life debt. From saving my life in the Manor, during the war." Harry's voice fell quiet as he spoke, staring down into the amber liquid swimming in his glass.

"Couldn't you have used yours to refuse him?"

"I could, but I owe a debt to his mother too, from her saving me in the Forbidden Forest. Surely she would have just used that to counter-act it. Besides, I don't mind. I like helping people. She doesn't deserve to die, and it's a chance for me to challenge myself in my work." His words were true; Harry knew that, although he was surprised by Malfoy's arrival in his life, he would have agreed to grow the seed without him calling on the life debt.

Ron simply shrugged in acceptance, rolling his eyes openly as Harry said 'I like helping people'. His saviour complex had become a long-running joke in their circle of friends, something Harry easily accepted. "Well, I suppose if he's called your life debt in, that leaves you free to call in his." Ron said, his eyes glittering mischievously. "What are you going to ask for?"

Harry glanced up in genuine surprise – he hadn't thought at all about asking for a debt in return. "There's nothing I want." He replied honestly, draining the rest of his glass.

"This is a chance for you to ask for anything mate. The possibilities are endless! You could at least ask to never see the git again." Ron paused, then laughed in a way that reminded Harry of George when he thought of a new Weasley Wizard Wheeze product. "Or you could ask him to dye his hair green."

Harry laughed good naturedly at the absurdity of Ron's suggestion, using his wand to summon the bottle of firewhiskey and refill both of their glasses. Their night continued in that way, with both of them drinking and Harry laughing as expected at each of Ron's suggestions for Harry's life debt over Malfoy, each more ridiculous than the last.

Long after Harry had seen a slightly stumbling Ron back through the flames to his own living room, Harry sat nursing yet another glass of Old Ogden's, staring without seeing into the flames. The entire day whirled around his mind, from the easy, relaxed conversation he had with Malfoy, the wizards unreadable expression when he found out about Harry's sexuality, to his conversation with Ron about the life debt he could call. Ron had appeared torn between asking Malfoy to leave the country and take up a permanent form as a ferret as the best two possibilities for the debt at the end of his visit and Harry had chuckled appreciably at both. Now, in the safety of his solitude, Harry found his thoughts returning to Malfoy, the open, soft expressions Harry caught when they were together in the greenhouse, the admiration he seemed to give Harry as he worked, and his dedication to his mother.

He drained the last of his glass – the last of the bottle – and sighed as he pulled himself to his feet. He swayed as he did so and cursed aloud; clearly he had more to drink than he had realised. The room spun as he dragged himself to bed, his thoughts blurring as he pulled himself under the covers.

The next morning when he awoke from dreams of Malfoy's face, he blamed it on the firewhiskey, and the raging hangover he had to remind him of it.


	4. Realisations

_This is a shorter chapter because it felt better to split these two parts up. The next chapter will be the last so, if you're enjoying, please review._

 **Chapter Four**

 **Realisations**

True to his word Malfoy had stopped by Harry's shop the next day. Harry had returned his cloak, took him to look in on the seed, and nodded or gave non-committal grunts as Malfoy made attempts to make small talk about the weather and how busy the business was. He all but rushed the blonde out, feeling uneasy with every minute he spent in his presence as the dreams lingered in the back of his mind. Why was he dreaming of Malfoy, anyway?

"I can come back soon?" Malfoy had asked as Harry ushered him towards the door. "To check in on the seed of course." He added quickly and, because Malfoy quickly masked the look of hurt that flickered in his eyes so briefly at Harry's dismissal, Harry was perfectly capable of pretending it had never existed.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Harry agreed dismissively as he opened the door for Malfoy. He would deal with the next visit when it came, for now, he simply wanted Malfoy gone. As he closed the door behind Malfoy's retreating frame he slumped back against the wall behind him and let out a long, rattling sigh as he let his head fall back against the cool stone. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled slowly, and then pushed himself away from the wall, snapping his eyes open in determination. He wouldn't let Malfoy affect him – in his dreams or otherwise – in this way. The thought took him back to his greenhouses where, once his hands were at one with the earth again, his tension was lost to the air.

-ooii-

It had been four days since Harry had heard from Malfoy. Usually Malfoy would have dropped by his shop, asking to see the growing plant, or – if Narcissa was particularly unwell - at the least dropped him an owl to see how it was coming along. But as Harry returned home, weary after a long day repotting mandrakes, after a fourth day without any sign of Malfoy and a table empty of owl post save from his copy of the Daily Prophet, guilt gnawed deep within his stomach. He thought back to the last time he had seen Malfoy, when he had practically pushed him out onto the street. He remembered – no matter how much he had tried to deny its existence – the flicker of hurt in Malfoy's eyes.

Why did he care? He asked himself, skipping the notion of an evening meal for a rather substantial pouring of Firewhiskey. Malfoy did have to be around Harry all the time. Harry certainly didn't want him to be. And, well, if Harry had wanted him to be, and he had offended Malfoy with his dismissal, he didn't want someone with that less of backbone anyway…

Did he?

He sighed, tossed back the glass of Firewhiskey in several long gulps and allowed himself to admit the truth.

He did.

He thought of the time they had spent together while Malfoy watched over the seed. The way Malfoy had listened eagerly to Harry's words, rather than becoming bored at his extensive ramblings on Herbology that none – except Neville, was willing to listen to for long. The way that not just his eyes, but his whole face, had softened in awe and wonder as Harry showed him how to bring a seed to life. The way their fingers had brushed together as they worked beside each other in the soil. The way Malfoy's body, firm and lean, pressed against his whenever he apparated them to and from his shop and the warehouse…

The realisation of his attraction to Malfoy, a hard and heavy tug that pulled his heart from his chest to his stomach, made it clear to Harry there were two important things he needed to do.

With that thought, he spelled the empty glass of Firewhiskey away, moved into his study and gathered himself a quill, ink and two clean pieces of parchment.

-oooii-

After the first letter Harry sent – a letter to Malfoy, apologising for his snappy behaviour (although he neglected to provide an excuse as each sounded more ridiculous than the next) and inviting him to his shop the following day to see a new charm added to the plant – Malfoy and Harry had slipped easily into their routine of regular visits, easy conversation and accidental touches that – now Harry was aware of them – lit his skin like fire.

That continuing problem was one Harry hoped would be solved by the second letter he had sent, the results of which would be clearer tonight. He stepped into the shower, letting the warm spray of water wash away the dirt and sweat of another long day in the greenhouses (and, along with it, any remaining thoughts of the way Malfoy's fingertips had brushed his, leaving sparks in their wake). Once he was clean he stepped out, wrapping a large fluffy towel around his waist as he grabbed his glasses and wand, attacking his hair with several drying and styling charms. He knew the latter were useless – he had tried many with little results – yet went through the motions all the same. Once he was dry he took to his room, dressing in the robes he had earlier laid out for himself. They were a deep, bottle-green and were made from a material which, although it looked as plush and thick as velvet, was in reality as light as a feather. Hermione had insisted upon Harry purchasing several pairs of dress robes after the war and his countless expected appearances at memorials and functions.

They didn't get much use in recent years, and as much as Harry preferred his safe, muddy, comfortable overalls, he had always loved these robes. They brought out his eyes, many of the party-goers he had been expected to court in the earlier days had told him, eyes just like his mothers. He took this thought to his mirror as he smoothed out the material of the robes – they still fit well, despite the years that had passed since he had worn them. His body, muscular yet lean, filled out the tailored lines well and the material looked rich and expensive against his skin. Most of all, the colour did indeed make his eyes sparkle behind the frames of his glasses. He gave his reflection a soft smile, he could definitely do with the advantage of the connection between his eyes and his robes tonight. His eyes, Ginny had often told him before they parted ways, were his best feature.

He picked up several items from his dresser; his wand, which he tucked into the sleeve of his robe as always, a small round sack which jangled with galleons and sickles as he slipped into one of the hidden pockets on his robe and finally, the apparition co-ordinates for the restaurant he'd chosen at Hermione's advice. She'd been curious, but didn't pry too much, and Harry knew he could trust her recommendations.

He check his watch – five minutes to seven, just enough time to arrive without looking too eager – when he heard the flames of his fire flare into life, blaring with a Floo call.

"Potter?" Called a voice he knew he couldn't mistake. He rushed through into his living room, carefully treading in a way which meant he wouldn't trip over the hem of his dress robes and land flat on his face, and saw Malfoy's head dancing in his flames.

"Yes?" He asked, sinking to his knees before the fire. As Malfoy saw him he blinked, once quickly, then slowly the second time. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the assessment of Malfoy's gaze. His eyes, once they had stopped blinking, raked over Harry's face, chest and what else was visible of his robes. "Yes?" He repeated, hoping to wake Malfoy from his stare.

"Going somewhere?" He asked, his tone exceptionally devoid of any inflection of tone or emotion. He did, however, raise a questioning eyebrow toward Harry's dress robes, as if giving explanation for his question.

Harry swallowed, shifted again, and said; "Yes. I'm going out for dinner."

"With?" Malfoy asked, his tone bland again, this time making Harry raise his eyebrows before he asked, in genuine confusion; "Why does that matter?"

"You're going on a date." Malfoy stated. That was simply what it was; it wasn't a question, or an exclamation. It wasn't angry, or upset, or jealous – no matter how much a small part of Harry, a part he pushed down with gritted teeth wanted it to be.

"Yes." Harry admitted, choosing his tone carefully. "Is there a problem?"

At Harry's question, the cool mask of disaffection on Malfoy's face was replaced with burning rage. It started as a flicker in his eyes, a brief whisper of fire, which could have easily been pulled back under Malfoy's nonchalant façade or allowed, as it was, to burst into a glorious display of emotion across his face. "Problem?" He repeated, his tone reflecting the emotion on his face. "Shouldn't you be watching the seed? This is a vital stage of its development. There's a matter of a _life debt_ here, in case you had forgotten, and I certainly –"

Harry raised his hand, stopping Malfoy's tirade more effectively than he ever thought he would be able to. "It's a plant, not a baby." He snapped in exasperation. Then he reminded himself of the importance of the plant to Malfoy, to his mother's life, and all the hope he had built into it. He felt a uncomfortable, twisting sensation of guilt and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again. "I'm sorry, that was rude. What I mean to say is the plant will be fine. All the charms are in place to keep it watered as it needs to be. I'm only leaving it for the same time I do each night, I'll be there again at the usual time tomorrow. You can come in the morning if you'd like, to see its all ok."

The rage that had filled Malfoy's features had subsided and, in its wake, had left a soft, dusky tinge of pink across his cheeks. His eyes were blank from what Harry could see – although they refused to connect with his, darting around the corners of the fireplace, avoiding his gaze entirely. "That won't be necessary." He muttered quietly, still keeping his eyes steadfastly away from Harry's. "I'll stop by and see the plant again on Monday, after the weekend, as we agreed."

Before Harry could even respond Malfoy closed down his Floo and ended the call. Harry's hearth lay cold and empty and he sat, staring into the dark stone for a moment, before he realised he had somewhere to be. His watch told him it was now five _past_ seven. Harry cursed and jumped to his feet, digging out the apparition co-ordinates he had written down. Taking a deep breath to compose himself – splinching himself wouldn't do him any favours – he spun on his heel and disapparated for the restaurant, full of apology's for his date, James, whom he had met a few months ago through a connection Neville had with Mediterranean plants.

Unfortunately, as Harry arrived home alone a few hours later, he had to accept that his second letter – the invitation on a date he had sent to James - hadn't been as successful in solving his problem as the first had been. As enjoyable as the date was, with pleasant food and even more satisfying alcohol, and as easy company the other wizard had been, with an intelligent interest in herbology and an attractive smile, Harry found himself with one, suborn thought that refused to go away, no matter how Harry refused to accept it.

The thought he still refused to accept even when, twenty minutes later, an elegant owl bearing a simple note from James arrived at his window.

 _He's a lucky man. If he doesn't realise it, call me again sometime._


	5. Healing

_Here it is, the last chapter! Thank you to Daughter of Fuyuki, aliyak2812, Lumcer and LadyWhiteRose2015 for the reviews, it means a lot! Thank you to everyone else who has read/favourited/followed this story too. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 **Healing**

Exactly one month after the seed was first planted, to the exact hour and minute, the Salutaris was in full bloom. After Harry's date with James he had focused his attention on rearing the plant and being friendly with Malfoy. Both had been successful and, despite a slight frost in the air the first time they met after the ill-fated date (Harry assumed Malfoy was still annoyed about his lack of devotion to the plant), Harry and Malfoy had maintained a friendly, open, attitude toward each other ever since.

As friendly and as open as one could be when Harry was hiding hidden desires every time their fingers accidently brushed, or whenever Malfoy smiled or laughed at something Harry had said, or whenever he turned around to bend and pick something up for Harry in the greenhouse – _especially then_. But he had kept his desires locked away like iron, refusing to let them interfere with the job at hand; rearing the plant and, in turn, saving Narcissa's life.

The morning the Salutaris was due to be cut from the earth seemed to dawn slowly to Harry, with each minute of his morning routine from his shower to his breakfast seeming to stretch out before him like an eternity. He tried to ignore the weighing thought on the back of his mind that it was because it would be the last time he saw Malfoy. He would pass over the plant, they would bid each other farewell, and that would be the end of their relationship. If you could call it a relationship, when a life debt was invoked to secure a deal – but really, Harry wasn't sure what else to call it. He pushed the thoughts away, telling himself that when this was all over, when Malfoy was gone and out of his life, that he would be able to move on. He hadn't thought of James since the date, but now his thoughts drifted to him and the note he had sent. He could, when Malfoy was gone, invite him out again. The idea didn't fill him with the warm, soft feeling he got when he saw Malfoy's smile, or the sparking, tingling sensation he got whenever his skin brushed his. But then again, Harry reminded himself, it hadn't always been that way with Malfoy, either. In fact they had actively despised each other – surely the fact he was attracted to James from the start would make moving forward easier?

But now he wouldn't think about that, as he dressed in his worn work overalls and apparated away, he would only think about the job before him. He landed in his shop as always, feeling Malfoy's presence at the edge of the wards before he even opened the door. He flicked his wand toward the door to open it and smiled as Malfoy bustled inside. His entire face shone with emotion; for once he looked young, even younger than his age. His face was a mixture of feeling; clear excitement, which Harry could share, at the prospect of the plant in full bloom, yet anxious – which Harry _definitely_ shared – at the fear that it wouldn't work. Harry firmly pushed that thought away, recalled his smile and flashed it in Malfoy's direction, offering his arm as he asked; "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Malfoy replied his words and tone supporting the existence of the two emotions Harry had picked up on in his gaze. He crossed the room, as he always did, to Harry's side and placed his arm on his. Harry closed his eyes, taking a moment longer to stand and savour the moment – the last time they would do this – before he carried them both away. The greenhouse was sweltering with heat as always, and Harry felt the sweat dripping at his brow before he had even crossed the floor to the plant. It stood tall and proud; a thin, yet sturdy dark green stem stalked from the soil with several slender, delicate, yet razor-sharp edged leaves adorning the climbing shoot. At the top blossomed a glorious flower, the petals the shape of snowdrops and were just as white, yet tinged so deeply scarlet on the ends it looked as if they had been dipped with blood. Harry shuddered as he thought back to the book on the Salutaris and just what those petals could do, wondering if their appearance was anything of a warning about their capabilities.

He pulled on a thick pair of gloves and offered the same to Malfoy. He nodded his thanks, tugging the dense material over slender, pale fingers – Harry tore his gaze away from them before he looked crazy – and turned back to the plant. They would need to wear the gloves today as they handled the plant and took it from its home in the earth. From the second the plant matured it was vital that it was touched for no other reason than its intended use. It must not, Harry had confirmed several times through the book Malfoy sent him, be handled directly by a wizard until his performing the magic he intends for it. If either Harry or Malfoy accidently brushed a leaf, or a petal, or any other part of the plant which could be deadly when it was used alone, the healing properties of the entire plant would be useless.

Removing the Salutaris from its planter was a quick, simple task. Its roots eased beautifully from the soil, as if the plant itself knew it were ready to move on. Harry opened the container he had conjured the previous night for Malfoy to transport the plant and nodded to the other wizard. Malfoy already had his wand in hand and, at Harry's nod, murmured a simple, but strong, bubble charm to encase the plant as Harry placed it into the container. Once the lid was closed Harry pulled off the gloves – he hated being restricted when working with his plants and offered both the plant in its container, and a smile, to Malfoy.

"Thank you." The blonde whispered as he took the box in both hands. He was staring at the Salutaris through the clear glass Harry had chosen – chosen specifically because he knew Malfoy would want to keep an eye on it – as he spoke. After a moment he looked up, startling Harry with a wide, genuine smile.

"It was my pleasure." Harry replied, with a smile just as genuine. He waited for a moment, let a beat of silence pass between them and then, because he could, he admitted; "I would have done it – grown this for you – without the life debt, you know."

The look of surprise that washed across Malfoy's features was as genuine as his smile had been. "Why?" He whispered in question, his gaze burning into Harry's.

"The same reason I spoke for you at your trials. You and your mother don't deserve to suffer." Harry replied, keeping his eyes steady on Malfoy's, his tone soft, low and full of meaning. The air seemed to crackle around them for a moment and Malfoy's tongue darted out, licking his lips in a nervous motion. Harry couldn't help it; his gaze slipped to watch the movement and he found himself mirroring it in return. He looked up as he realised what he was doing, fighting the urge to flush at the thought he had more than likely been caught staring at Malfoy's lips and said; "and I like helping people. Hermione thinks I've got a complex."

The joke had its intended effect, breaking the tension between them and drawing a short, but honest, chuckle from Malfoy. "Granger may well have a point there." He teased in reply, before shifting the container to a single hand. He had already disposed of his gloves and, as he spoke, extended a long, slender hand to Harry. "But I'm glad you do."

Harry reached out in return, grasping Malfoy's hand, and trying not to let his face show the way such a simple touch affected him. Simple in nature, but not in gravity; it was, no doubt, the last they would share. Harry held the handshake longer than he should have, trying to remember the feel of Malfoy's smooth, warm palm against his, before he released his hand and stepped back. "I hope your mother feels well again soon." He said, because he didn't know what else to say. It was the truth, of course, but he merely said it to avoid saying goodbye.

"I'm sure she will. I should get back and brew this; I already have the potion ready, but the longer the Salutaris stays out of the ground without being infused into its potion – whatever the intention - the less potent it becomes." Malfoy explained, drawing the box in close with both hands again as Harry let his fall.

Harry nodded, waving a feeble gesture of goodbye. It wasn't words, but words didn't seem appropriate. Apparently, they didn't to Malfoy either, for within a second he had turned on his heel and vanished from the greenhouse with a pop.

* * *

A week had passed since Harry had handed the Salutaris plant, the key to healing Narcissa, to Malfoy. It had been a week since Harry had seen Malfoy or heard from him in any way. He expected at least an owl, to tell him if the plant worked or not. Yes, he knew the potion would need a few days to brew after the addition of the plant, and for a few more vital ingredients, but by now… By now Narcissa must have taken the potion. In the times where he felt anxious, Harry worried that the plant hadn't worked; that he had made some mistake in growing it, that he hadn't been cautious or attentive enough or that there was a problem with the potion, or that Narcissa had simply been too far gone. But in the times where he felt angry, Harry stormed as he tried to shed the unwanted emotion at the fact Malfoy hadn't even bothered to lift quill to parchment to tell Harry how things had gone; he had done everything in his power to ensure the plant was well cared for and blossomed into its purest form, Malfoy was a more than competent brewer and he would have never used his life debt if he knew it was too late to save his mother.

Harry found his own quill hovering above parchment on countless occasions. Sometimes he thought of writing to Malfoy, to ask how the potion had worked, to ask after Narcissa's health… Sometimes he thought of writing to James, to explain that the other man in his life was (unfortunately, although Harry wouldn't have written that part) now gone.

Neither received their letters, because none were ever written.

Both his anger and his loss, however, were soothed by the earth beneath his hands as he kept the daily tending of his plants. It truly was remarkable, he thought, how such a thing could calm his sea of emotions and bring peace to his world. One particular morning he stopped by the smallest greenhouse on their land; a small, old until held together by several charms. It was the first greenhouse Harry had ever worked in, the one Neville first gave to him to practise his skills. Harry no longer kept any plants he grew for business in there, but he grew flowers he enjoyed. He grew daffodils, because Hermione loved them. He grew tomatoes and strawberries as muggles did, because he liked the taste of eating something he had grown himself. He grew lilies, to honour his mother.

That was when Harry had an idea.

* * *

It had been a further week since Harry had put his plan into action and it was – thanks to several charms which aided speed in the process of growing – almost complete. He dropped into his first greenhouse to check, tenderly stroking the petals of the lilies as he passed, when the buzz of the wards let him know he had a customer. He spared a glance toward the flower beside the lilies – growing rather nicely, as he knew they would – and disapparated.

Standing in the doorway was Malfoy.

A barrage of emotions hit Harry like a stunner to the chest. The first was joy; he couldn't help it, seeing Malfoy's face after all this time (two weeks, his brain reminded him, was hardly a long time, but Harry ignored that). Although he had stared before, he had never really appreciated Malfoy's unique beauty. Yes, some like Ron would say he was pale and pointy, but he held his features in a regal, defined way which made them undeniably attractive. Second came hope; had he missed Harry too? Had he come for friendship after the loss of their time together? Did he… Did Harry dare to believe that he could miss him in a _different_ way? Then there was fear; it had been two weeks, then he had chosen to come in person. Had something gone wrong? Was he here to curse Harry in blame? Last came anger; how dare he, after two weeks without contact, swan into Harry's shop with no care in the world? Did he not think Harry had cared, that he had worried?

All of the emotions fought for the surface, but none prevailed. Instead, flat out surprise won, as Harry simply said; "Malfoy."

"Hello Potter, it's nice to see you." Malfoy greeted, and flashed him a smile. Harry's heart fluttered, he bowed his head in a nod, and smiled back.

"It's nice to see you too." He replied, because it was the truth.

"My mother asked me to stop by." Malfoy said, and the smile on Harry's face dropped. _Oh_ , his heart thought, _so he's not here for me. Not for himself, anyway._ Malfoy seemed oblivious to the change in expression and continued. "She wishes to see you."

"Is she commanding her life debt too?" Harry joked, attempting to lighten the disappointment which had hit him, although it only became worse when Malfoy's features darkened.

"No." He murmured, flickering his eyes from Harry to the floor. "I had hoped, after what you said, that she wouldn't need to."

 _You're an idiot_ , Harry cursed himself. "Of course she doesn't. I was planning on making a visit at some point anyway." He said, attempting to move past the conversation as quickly as he could. That was the truth too, it was what his plan in the first greenhouse was all about. "Is she well?"

"You were?" Malfoy asked in response to Harry's mentioning a visit, drowning out Harry's question. His cheeks gave a slight flush of pink which faded in an instant, yet stayed long enough for Harry to catch it. He wondered why Malfoy would be embarrassed that Harry had planned to visit, if that was what his mother wanted. "Yes, she's well. The plant was accepted by the potion and after another five days of brewing it was perfect. She took daily doses for three days…" Malfoy trailed off with a slight shake of his head. Clearly he had decided that since Harry didn't ask for the details, he didn't want them. Harry hoped nothing in his expression had suggested that; of course, he did. "She's very well. She's back to full health."

"That's brilliant." Harry said and gave a smile to show he meant it. Malfoy gave him one in return and for a moment they stood together, in the companionable silence Harry had missed, before Malfoy cleared his throat and said;

"So tomorrow? You could stop by for lunch… Unless…" He paused and gestured around the shop "the evening would be preferable?"

Harry consulted the mental diary in his mind; it was mid-week and although it was December, Harry didn't have to keep up with the same Christmas demand George did at WWW. He could check on his plants in the morning and would be able to find someone to cover the afternoon shift in the store. "Lunch would be fine."

* * *

Harry came home from his early visit to the greenhouses, satisfied that all the plants were well tended and that Clara had a handle on the store before he left. It felt strange to be home at such an early hour, stripping off his overalls and heading for the shower. He spent longer in there than necessary, scrubbing at every inch of his skin exposed to the dirt and sweat of his work; although he only had experiences of the Manor during the war, he presumed Narcissa would keep it no less than immaculate. He didn't want to cause offence, or stand out like a smear of dirt on their marble floors. When satisfied he was clean he left the bathroom, dried and dressed himself in a pair of robes. Not the immaculate, formal dress robes he'd worn on his date with James – no matter how much a part of him wanted to, to use the opportunity to show Malfoy he could be elegant and attractive – but a pair of well-made, presentable robes all the same.

He was about to leave – Malfoy had written to him the previous night with the apparition co-ordinates that would leave him directly outside their gates – when he remembered his plan. Or, as it was now, his gift. He went to the vase in his sitting room, taking the freshly cut narcissus flowers from their water. He took care in placing a preservation charm to keep them fresh and another to wrap them in a fine, patterned paper which shone with twists of green and silver.

When he arrived, a small, deeply bowing house elf greeted him at the gates. "Mr Potter, sir, I is being Hinks, I is welcoming you to Malfoy Manor, inviting you inside." The elf bowed so low that its elongated nose almost scraped the gravel path beneath it as it snapped its fingers, sweeping the tall iron gates open in a silent, grand motion. "You is following me, Mr Potter sir, to where Master and Mistress Malfoy is waiting for you."

Harry nodded and did as he was requested to, following the elf as he walked up the path. The gardens were, of course, immaculate. Harry gazed down at the bunch of flowers he held, suddenly feeling them a pathetic gesture in light of the life blooming around him. He was just considering if he should vanish them, when the elf's voice squeaked again.

"You is coming inside, Mr Potter. Master and Mistress Malfoy are waiting for you in the East sitting room." He informed him as they stepped through the grand doors into the entrance hall of the Manor. The East sitting room, it turned out, was only a few turns to the left, giving Harry no more time to consider banishing the narcissus he held. When they reached the door Hink's opened it, bowed in farewell, and disappeared with a crack.

"Mrs Malfoy." Harry said as he felt her gaze turn to the doorway, landing squarely on him. She sat on a sofa by the fireplace, illuminated by the soft glow of the flames there. Her face was pale – although no paler than the times he had seen her in the past – and clear, her hair was immaculate and her eyes shone like blue ice. "You look well. I'm pleased the potion worked."

"Please, call me Narcissa. We have now saved each other's lives, I feel surnames a little formal for such a relationship, don't you?" She replied, beckoning him into the room with a curve of her finger and a gentle smile.

"Of course." Harry agreed, because how could he disagree, when he was a guest in someone's home? That and the fact that the flowers he held suggested comfortability with her given name that would be strange if he refused to call her by it. As he stepped inside, more of the room was revealed, and he saw Malfoy sitting in a chair at the other side of the fireplace. He wore robes of a grey so light it could be considered silver that – although he didn't look – Harry knew would bring his eyes out magnificently. Malfoy was looking at his mother, rather than Harry, and Harry realised it would be up to him to offer the first greeting. "Ma-" He started, before stopping himself. How could he call Narcissa by her first name, yet continue to call Malfoy by their family name? "Draco." He amended, surprised at how right the name felt on his tongue.

And it certainly got his attention. The blonde's gaze snapped towards him, surprise flickering in his eyes – as well as, Harry noted warmly, joy – as Harry called him his given name. He offered Harry a smile, nodded in welcome, and returned the favour. "Harry."

If Harry had thought it right to call Draco by his given name – surprising how easily his mind adapted, as well as his tongue – it had nothing on how it felt to hear his own name from Draco's lips. His smile came more broadly, and he stepped further into the room. "It's nothing grand, but I brought you a gift." He said, turning back to address Narcissa. He approached her at the sofa and offered the flowers to Narcissa. She reached out and took them, holding them gently in both hands and giving a soft, warm smile, softly murmuring; "Narcissus".

"Yes." Harry nodded, glad his intentions hadn't been missed. "I, well, I mainly grow for the potions market, but I also keep a greenhouse where I grow for myself. I grow lilies, to remind me of my mother. I thought.." Harry trailed off, because he wasn't sure what he thought. That and he had just admitted, to a relative stranger, that he grew lilies to remind him of his dead mother.

"It is a beautiful gesture." Narcissa assured him, taking the flowers into one hand so she could snap her fingers. "However, it should be I making the gestures, when I invited you here to thank you for helping my son in saving my life."

Harry was glad to have a moments reprieve in the form of the crack that sounded the room as the elf Narcissa's snap had summoned arrived in the room. It was a different elf to the one who had greeted Harry at the door, and for a moment Harry vaguely wondered how many elves the Malfoy's had.

"Mistress, what is you requiring?" The elf asked – a female elf, this one, Harry thought from the few garments she wore – before curtseying; definitely a female then.

"You will find a vase for these and place them somewhere I will be able to appreciate them." Narcissa directed, handing the bunch over to the elf. "Then you will bring our lunch. We will take our tea and sandwiches in here today." She paused, turned to Harry, and asked; "Do you have any preferences?"

"Er-" Harry said, for a moment shocked that his notions would be taken into consideration. "Not really. I like anything. Apart from pickle."

Narcissa's delicate nose wrinkled as if someone had placed a particularly foul-smelling dung bomb in front of her. "I don't think the Manor would contain such an ingredient. Unless a guest required it, of course." She stated, wiping away the look of distaste as she turned her gaze back to the elf. "That is all."

The elf nodded, curtseyed once more, and disappeared with a second crack. Harry took a seat in the chair next to Draco's and was surprised by how easily he fell into light conversation. They covered polite, simple topics such as Harry's business, Narcissa's growing health and Draco's movements in the potions market. Both the tea and sandwiches – and the delicate cakes the house elves served afterward – were mouth wateringly delicious and Harry ate a great deal more than his share. He feared at first it may be considered rude, yet Narcissa simple smiled at each cleared plate and offered him more. He was struck by the urge to laugh as his mind made a comparison between her and Molly Weasley – both female, pure-blood witches trying to feed him up – but swallowed the desire immediately. Even in the newfound tolerance Narcissa and Draco had found since the war, he didn't think such a comparison would be kindly tolerated.

Harry took the breaks in conversation to glance at Draco; he seemed happy, comfortable and relaxed in his home, leaning back in his chair and talking to his mother with ease. He smile was gentle but constant, calm in a way Harry found more attractive than anything he had seen at his greenhouses. Or, Harry reasoned, more attractive simply because he had missed it.

Or, he thought but didn't dare to believe, more attractive because of the way he felt Draco glancing at him in return.

"It has been a pleasant afternoon." Narcissa said once the plates were clear and the pots of tea empty. "I must thank you again for your services."

"Not at all, I'm glad you well. If there's anything I can do in the future…" Harry trailed off, leaving his offer open. He would, he had no doubt now that he accepted his feelings for Draco, return to assist with anything the Malfoy's may need. Harry fought the urge to laugh – if Hermione could read his thoughts, she would sigh and roll her eyes; she always said he had gone from being a martyr in service of the wizarding world to one in service of hopeless love affairs. It was true, he admitted, that his previous relationships had been less than successful; one would think that Harry Potter would be able to find a decent date.

The problem was, right now, Harry didn't want one.

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind as Draco's voice drifted to him. "No need, mother, I'll show Harry out." Harry blinked, brought his attention back to the conversation at hand and saw the way Narcissa had raised her hand, clearly ready to summon a house elf; she turned her gaze to Draco and offered him a small, knowing smile, before nodding and lowering her hand.

Draco stood, motioned toward the door, and waited for Harry to follow him. Harry did so, following behind – he was only too happy to appreciate the sway of Malfoy's robes from behind, the way the clung to him, tailored to his body in just the right places – before they reached the door of the Manor all too soon.

"I'll see you to the gate." Draco said as the doors magically opened for him with no more than a sweep of his hand. Harry nodded and followed once again, this time falling into step beside Draco. Harry tugged his cloak more tightly around him as they walked – the bitter chill of December was definitely taking root in the air – the sight of the gate coming all too soon.

"Thank your mother again for inviting me." Harry said as they stopped at the gate. It hadn't opened, which Harry took as a sign Draco wanted to say goodbye.

"I will do." He nodded, flashing a quick smile before he turned his gaze to the gate behind Harry. Harry turned in time, feeling a disappointing tug in the pit of his stomach as he looked at the gate, waiting for it to open, until;

"Wait." Draco said, and Harry instantly turned around. "I wondered…" He paused, licked his lips, and lifted his eyes to Harry's. "I appreciated your company. I wondered, if you would be interested in…" he paused again, shaking his head, as if clearing whatever line he had prepared in his mind, offering his hand to Harry and simply asking; "friends?"

The tug of disappointment in Harry's stomach quickly turned to a block of ice; hard, painful and unconquerable. At one point he would have told himself he would be glad of the friendship, if he could have nothing more, but after their afternoon, after the glances he was certain he'd seen returned…

Apparently the feeling in his gut had translated onto his face in an inappropriate way as Draco moved to drop his hand and said; "Of course, if that's not-"

"No!" Harry interjected, sweeping out his hand to clutch Draco's before it dropped. His grip didn't quite form the handshake he had been offered, yet it didn't quite qualify as the loving hold he desired. Draco stared wide-eyed, first at their joined hands and then at Harry. He flushed, unable to help his embarrassment. "I mean, it's not that at all."

"Then what is it?" Draco asked. His voice was cool, his face straight. Even looking into his eyes – the way Harry had learnt to read his thoughts – offered little. He was sure he could see hope, maybe even desire, sparking there, but how could he be sure? He didn't even know if Draco was gay. He could have misread every signal so far. He could be wrong.

Then again, he could say nothing, and he would never know.

In the end, Harry chose to say nothing.

He did, however, let his lips do the talking in a different way. He used their joined hands to pull Draco closer, leaning his head in to Draco's and capturing his lips with his own. They were soft, yet icy cold from the chill of the winter air. He moved his mouth slowly and, after a moment's hesitation, Draco began to move his own. The kiss was chaste at first, but quickly deepened. Harry slipped his tongue out from between his lips, dancing it against Draco's for entrance. It was accepted and soon their tongues melted together, each providing warmth that contrasted with the cold breeze whipping around them.

When their lips broke apart, Draco's eyes no longer held hope, but the desire Harry had believed was there was now unmistakable. "Well." He breathed, his voice so soft Harry could barely hear it. "If that's what it is, I'm more than happy to oblige."

Harry laughed, light and carefree, and sank back against Malfoy to claim another warm kiss, more than happy to oblige himself.


End file.
